


Night's Consenting Darkness

by Oshun



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshun/pseuds/Oshun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately following the Series One episode, “The Moment Of Truth.” Rendered AU by the subsequent seasons of the program. Contains: First time; some fluff, but hopefully mitigated by enough humor and characterization to make it palatable. My Beta Lilith dubbed Arthur the Crown Prince of Mixed Signals and Denial in this one.</p><p>(Thank you, Lilith, for your all of your generous suggestions and corrections. I also must thank the writers at the Lizard Council for their help, particularly Elvses and Elfscribe.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night's Consenting Darkness

Arthur inhaled the newly perceptible scent of damp earth and the nearby forest. Although his eyes stung and soot particles still wafted through the air, all of the fires had been extinguished. A fresh breeze rapidly cleared the village of the remaining smoke. Gwen and Morgana fiddled with the packs on the horses, muttering softly between themselves, casting anxious glances in the direction of Merlin.  
  
After fussing with the horses for another minute, Morgana at last voiced the crucial question. “Arthur, is Merlin returning with us or is he staying here?”  
  
Arthur could not respond, afraid his voice would betray his dread of impending loss. Envisioning Camelot without Merlin was like imagining the world with all the color leached out of it, or a life completely devoid of humor.  
  
Shrugging, Arthur refused to meet Morgana’s eyes and continued to watch Hunith speaking earnestly with her son. At last, the tension in Merlin’s jaw relaxed. His mother kissed him on the forehead, he embraced her, squared his shoulders, and walked toward his friends and their horses.  
  
“Are we ready?” Merlin asked, not nearly as casual as he attempted to appear. He met Arthur’s gaze with a silent plea for reassurance that he was making the right decision.  
  
Arthur reined in his smile, which threatened to burst into a foolish grin or even worse a jubilant whoop.  
  
“Yes. Glad you’re coming back with us,” Arthur said, trying to sound brusque. “Let’s go. If we ride four hours before we stop tonight, we may be able to reach Camelot late tomorrow.” When Merlin’s dark blue eyes turned soft and the corners of his mouth twitched up into one of his irresistible smiles, Arthur realized he had failed miserably at hiding the intensity of his relief.  
  
Not talking much, out of respect for Merlin’s subdued mood, they rode companionably enough and made good time. Arthur almost missed Merlin’s usual pointless twaddle and his constant complaining. Despite an increasing amount of time spent on horseback, Merlin was still a lousy rider.  
  
They stopped for the night as planned and set up camp. Merlin built a fire, an exemplary one for once. Its embers were already white hot by the time Arthur returned with two pheasants. After Arthur cleaned the birds himself, claiming he could easily imagine what a mess Albion’s most incompetent manservant would make of the job, it didn’t take long to roast the fowl. The four companions were at last tucked in around the fire with full plates and cups of wine.  
  
Morgana and Gwen clearly believed that Merlin needed to be cosseted. Understandable. Merlin had just lost his closest childhood friend. Women could do that sort of thing. Arthur told himself that he was not in the least envious as he watched Gwen give Merlin the best pieces of roast meat and Morgana pat his hand, several times, asking if he wanted more wine. Anyway, he didn’t need to make such demonstrations to show his support to his manservant. He and Merlin understood one another.  
  
Later, Gwen and Morgana slept, curled under shared blankets on one side of the campfire, with Merlin and Arthur side-by-side on the other. Arthur gazed at the shrinking flames, crackling red and golden in the tranquil night, and the glowing patterns on the logs that had already burned to embers. He was aware of Merlin, silent at his back, too quiet to be asleep.  
  
He turned over and looked at Merlin. The fire threw shadows and light onto Merlin’s features. It accentuated his bone structure and cast the hollows and planes of his visage in sharp relief. His thick, dark eyelashes stood out against his pale skin. Arthur thought that, although Merlin had not been raised in affluence, he obviously had not suffered from malnourishment as a child. Merlin might be thin to the point of bony, all rangy arms and legs, but manifested none of the effects of serious deprivation. Arthur well knew how that looked. When he became king he would eliminate hunger along with extending and securing the boundaries of Albion; he wanted no rosy-cheeked infants maturing into stunted youths under his rule.  
  
“Merlin. Are you sleeping?”  
  
Merlin’s eyes shot open. A lazy grin overtook his striking face. “If I had been, I would be awake now, wouldn't I?”  
  
“You’re such an idiot,” Arthur said.  
  
“I couldn’t fall asleep. I usually read for a while before sleeping, even when I’m exhausted from running around doing busywork for you.”  
  
“Busywork!” Arthur parodied offended self-importance. “I never ask you to do anything that doesn’t need to be done.” Merlin indulged him with a chuckle.  
  
“Liar!” Merlin’s smile, warm with affection, brought a flush to Arthur’s cheeks. He was glad his face was hidden in the shadows from the fire behind him.  
  
“Shh. You’ll wake up Gwen and Morgana. How did you ever learn to read in Ealdor?”  
  
Merlin shrugged, serious again. “My mother taught me.”  
  
“You’re a mystery Merlin. Where did your mother learn to read?”  
  
“Heh. A lot about my mother is still a mystery to me.”  
  
“Like who was your father?”  
  
“For starters, yes.”  
  
“Or, for example, how did your mother come to know Gaius?”  
  
“Gaius told me she was his stepsister. But I never met or heard of him before I came to Camelot.”  
  
”Hmm,” Arthur said. “That’s odd. Did they both originally come from Ealdor?”  
  
”Cannot tell you.”  
  
“Can’t or won’t?” Arthur asked. There was something about Merlin that he still could not put his finger on. During the past months, he had revised continuously all of his initial impressions of Merlin. But he continued to feel there were things about Merlin that he had yet to learn.  
  
“Can’t. As in: do not know. Dim royal prat.” Merlin’s grin taunted him. That and the tip of his pink tongue barely visibly between his teeth dared Arthur to kiss him.  
  
Before Arthur realized what he was doing, he had leaned over and done just that. Merlin’s lips were pliant under his, full and slightly chapped. It felt even better than he had imagined it might. Reflexively, Arthur deepened the kiss, encouraging Merlin to open up to him. He slipped his tongue into Merlin’s mouth. Merlin groaned, moving closer.  
  
Arthur realized this was big, fabulous, and ludicrously, terribly wrong. “No,” he choked, abruptly drawing away.  
  
He turned over to face the fire, his heart thumping madly, his entire body protesting, and his mind screaming, ‘Now you have gone and screwed everything up, you fool.’ Up to that point, he thought he’d successfully hidden his wildly inappropriate, growing attraction to Merlin.  
  
He heard Merlin exhale noisily in exasperation. “Go to sleep, Merlin,” he said. “We need to get an early start.”  
  
“Of course. Rest well, _my lord_ ,” Merlin responded, with a tone of unbelievable cheek.  
  
§ § § §  
  
By the time they reached Camelot late the following afternoon, Merlin was worn out. The previous day’s pitched battle in Ealdor had required that he use his magic, while keeping it secret, always extremely draining. If that had not been exhausting enough, there was Will’s death, then riding for nearly two days, and sleeping on the ground. The final straw had been the strange incident of Arthur kissing him by the campfire and since then refusing to look at him or utter a civil word.  
  
All of Camelot turned out to greet them as they entered the keep. Merlin glanced up to spot Uther looking down from a rampart. The king nodded nearly imperceptibly in greeting, a good sign, given that Arthur had followed them to Ealdor without permission. Perhaps Arthur would escape with the standard lecture about how irresponsible it was for the king’s only heir to engage in pointless errantry.  
  
Arthur slapped Merlin on the back, first direct contact in more than a day. “Will you ask someone to bring water for a bath up to my chambers? Please come up after you have had a chance to see our gear has been unloaded and freshen up yourself.”  
  
As Merlin walked to Arthur’s rooms later, he felt increasingly bewildered about what to make of the events of the last few days. First, Arthur had dropped his reserve to an unparalleled degree, followed the next night by the unexpected kiss. Then he had turned totally uncommunicative over the rest of the return trip. Now, apparently, since they had arrived in Camelot, Arthur proposed to behave as though nothing at all different had passed between them. Merlin thought he could do that, as he had in the past with Arthur, but the effort increasingly felt false and stupid.  
  
“Have you eaten anything yet?” Arthur asked as Merlin entered the room. That was unusual. Before Ealdor, Merlin could not think of an instance of Arthur inquiring about his personal comfort, except the times when he was in danger of being killed on the spot. In circumstances like those, Arthur would always be the one Merlin would prefer to have at his back.  
  
“I ate something with Gaius when I went to my room to wash up and change.”  
  
“Well, you do look better. I spoke with my father. He was actually pleased with the outcome. Claimed he had been moved by your mother’s request. It seems he assumed I would more likely than not follow you, but could not appear to have any knowledge of it for political reasons, of course.”  
  
“That’s good for you, I guess.” Merlin wondered if the self-absorbed prince expected him to put the kiss out of his mind, to shrug off that he had ignored him for a full day, and simply wanted Merlin to commiserate with him about his father, as though nothing had happened for good or ill on their trip.  
  
”You’re angry with me,” Arthur responded, his expression unreadable.  
  
Merlin, although he figured he was a pushover for Arthur’s whims, intended to clear the air between them or be clapped into the stocks for trying. He had wanted to thank Arthur for all he done in Ealdor, wished he could restore what he had hoped would be a new level of acceptance and understanding between them. He could forget the kiss, if that was what Arthur wanted, but he would not let everything else go.  
  
“About last night . . . “ Merlin began unsteadily.  
  
“Of course,” Arthur interrupted preemptively, his tone clipped and tense. “I am aware that I owe you an apology.” He sounded not in the least sorry to Merlin. “Inexcusable on my part. It will not happen again.”  
  
Arthur could be such an insufferable prat, less when he was being intentionally provocative than when he believed he had said the right thing.  
  
“Well, then. If that is all, _sire_ , I will leave now,” Merlin said, his emphasis on the word ‘sire’ as sarcastic as he could manage. He felt himself caving in to his own infuriating weakness, that of allowing Arthur to anger him. And yet, his irritation never prevented him from melting at the sight of him, hair ruffled, damp from his bath, golden in the firelight, the sharp angle of his jaw, and his beautiful mouth, lips slightly parted.  
  
At that moment, Arthur cocked his head to one side and widened his eyes into a look of honest confusion. Just as quickly, with a flicker of temper or perhaps bloody mindedness, he gave Merlin a disingenuous half-smile. “Remove my boots and you are free to go,” he said, plopping onto the chair nearest the window and spreading wide his legs. The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched into a small smile, almost but not quite his habitual smirk.  
  
Imagining himself between Arthur’s legs, his face so close to his crotch, struck Merlin like a kick in the groin. He dropped to one knee, with a loud rattling sigh, and grabbed Arthur’s boot, yanking impatiently, not bothering about the angle. Arthur clutched the arms of the chair to keep from being pulled onto the floor.  
  
“Ouch! Merlin. Why do you always have to turn the most ordinary request of one’s manservant into a pissing match?”  
  
“Indeed. And why do you have to turn any expression of human decency on your part into something you must regret and try to forget as quickly as possible?”  
  
“What _are_ you yammering about?”  
  
“About you deciding to come to Ealdor. About showing concern for me after what happened to Will. Understanding how I felt. Telling me you were sorry. I only wanted to say I appreciated everything.”  
  
“Oh,” Arthur said, again with the big-eyed, innocent look. “I thought you wanted to talk about me kissing you.”  
  
“I am not the lackwit you claim I am. I knew you would not want to be reminded of that!”  
  
“Merlin, be reasonable. It isn’t you. It’s a question of our stations. You know anything like that could be seen as taking unfair advantage of you.” Somehow, Arthur managed to look both injured and uncertain. “That bad was it?”  
  
“No. That good. Isn’t that what you refuse to admit?”  
  
“Who says I won’t admit it?” Arthur asked, before continuing in an agitated mumble, “I will. Admit that it was nice, I mean.”  
  
Merlin snorted at him, aggravated at the idea that the hopeless sod meant to dismiss a kiss like that as merely nice.  
  
“All right. Better than nice.” Arthur admitted, heaving a tortured sigh. Normal again, he ordered, “Now, get up off your knees. You make me feel like I am a reluctant virgin you are trying to seduce.”  
  
“You think I’m trying to seduce you?” Merlin could not restrain a grin. “That’s rich.”  
  
“Don’t argue. Why do you always have to argue?” They stood looking at one another for a minute, neither moving, holding eye contact, and then Arthur grabbed him, strong fingers biting into Merlin’s upper arms, turned him around, and shoved him into the chair. Arthur fell to his knees and pulled off Merlin’s boots, effortlessly, without a hitch. “That is how it is properly done.” He did smirk then, but an odd glitter accompanied the challenge in his eyes.  
  
Merlin wanted to ask why Arthur thought he wouldn’t be needing his boots. Instead he said, “I like you like this, my lord. On your knees. Looking up at me. You barely look arrogant.” Then Merlin tried to laugh off how his heart swelled in his chest and his cheeks burned, but the sound emerged as a strangled cough.  
  
Arthur released a groan and leaned forward, reaching up for a kiss, all of his weight bearing down on Merlin’s thighs. “You are such an insolent prick,” Arthur said, radiant, cheeks flushed, lips red, his voice a caress.  
  
“You’re so beautiful,” Merlin gasped. With that Arthur gave him a funny look and blushed like a girl. Then he jerked Merlin up from the chair and all but tossed him onto the bed. Arthur landed heavily along side of him, half on top of him. Not surprisingly, Arthur was a spectacular kisser, once he had decided to stop trying to weasel out of it. Both of them sank deeper into the soft bed and one another’s arms, clinging as though their lives depended on it.  
  
When Arthur finally broke off the kiss, he whispered, in an unfamiliar, husky voice. “Perhaps you are a sorcerer. Kissing someone never felt like that before.”  
  
“Not magic. We’ve just waited far too long.” Arthur quirked an eyebrow up speculatively. Merlin had a flash of intuition. “Am I wrong? You’ve wanted this too, haven’t you? Not just last night?”  
  
“I was that obvious last night?”  
  
“Do you normally stick your tongue in the mouth of the man who sleeps next to you on patrol?” Merlin fumbled with the laces on the front of Arthur’s leggings.  
  
Arthur, to Merlin’s astonishment, began undoing his trousers as well, while saying, “Fine, Merlin. You’ve made your point.”  
  
“So, you are all right with this now?” Merlin curled his hand around Arthur’s erection and began to stroke slowly. He felt marvelous to touch, better than Merlin’s wildest fantasies.  
  
Arthur grunted and cursed, eyes fluttering shut.  
  
“Arthur, look at me.” Merlin cupped his chin with one hand. “I need to be sure. Don’t want to add forcing myself upon you to the list of my regularly cataloged faults.”  
  
“Argh! Don’t be a stupid git,” Arthur snapped. He covered Merlin’s other hand, intent upon him not losing his rhythm. “Probably wanted you from the first time I saw you. As soon as you opened your insolent mouth.”  
  
Then, Arthur grasped Merlin's erection and began sliding his hand up and down the length of it, pushing down the foreskin, and running his thumb across the head. Merlin tried not to feel jealous wondering where Arthur had learned to be so good at this.  
  
Arthur had been leaning upon one elbow but collapsed against him again. Although overwhelmed with sensation and emotion, Merlin desperately wanted to hang on long enough to make Arthur come first. But he had never been half as stubborn as Arthur. Merlin arched up into his grasp as he climaxed, breathing “Arthur!” against his ear. Moments later, Arthur came with the sweetest drawn-out moan.  
  
Merlin pulled Arthur into his arms, completely relaxed, nuzzling his nose against the soft skin just behind Arthur’s ear. Arthur sank willingly into his embrace, surprising Merlin by cuddling closer. Arthur felt warm and incredibly perfect. His breathing consisted of soft pants and he said nothing, but tightened an arm around Merlin's shoulder holding him against him.  
  
After a while of quiet bliss, Arthur cleared his throat, his voice, hoarse at first but growing clearer and stronger, containing the full complement of entitled arrogance. “This is ridiculous. We are all wet and sticky. Look at the mess you made. And we’re shivering on top of instead of under the bed coverings, still wearing our shirts.”  
  
“That's your only comment on the first time we fucked?” Merlin asked, appalled.  
  
“Language, Merlin. Such language.” Arthur did sound happy. “So that is what passes for fucking in Ealdor?”  
  
“Vicious git. You think you know everything.”  
  
“Sorry. I suppose you do know so much more. I’d forgotten about the vast experience of country boys, sheep and that sort of thing.”  
  
“That’s revolting, even coming from you. Eww.”  
  
”I think you meant, ‘ewe.’”  
  
Merlin wrestled him on to his back and held him down, arms pinned above his head. The sight of Arthur looking up at him, face like an angel, took his breath away. He was more beautiful than ever, even with a smug grin.  
  
“I do love to wind you up, Merlin. You are just too easy. But you didn't say whether you liked it or not."  
  
“I thought it was fairly obvious,” Merlin answered. He could not get angry with Arthur, hearing the snarky humor back in his voice again. “So take off your own tunic if you are uncomfortable.” Merlin loosened his grip on Arthur’s wrists.  
  
“I thought maybe you might do that for me,” Arthur pled with puppy-dog eyes. What a manipulator he is, thought Merlin. But then he mused that he would be stupid to expect anything else.  
  
“Roll over and make it easier.” Merlin began unlacing Arthur’s tunic.  
  
He managed to get Arthur’s shirt off and pull his own over his head before Arthur asked, “So did you like doing that?”  
  
Merlin was not going to let Arthur's prideful reticence influence what he said. “It was amazing. I loved it.”  
  
“Me too," Arthur said, eyes wide and voice soft, before turning cocky. "So, would you be willing to try something more?”  
  
“Did you have anything particular in mind?”  
  
“I was wondering, do you ever wank and think about me?”  
  
“Is that a trick question?” Merlin asked warily.  
  
“Don’t you trust me?” Arthur wheedled, calculating under a look of guilelessness.  
  
“I trust you with my life. I trust you are the hope of Albion. But I am not at all sure I trust you with that information.”  
  
“Fine. If you are too big of a coward, then I will tell you first. I like to think about . . .”  
  
“Oh, no. You’re not getting away with that. Just because I am not all muscle bound, and don’t care for skewering living things on sharp objects, or knocking people off horses, doesn’t mean I am cowardly,” Merlin snarled. “I’ll tell you what I do like. I like to imagine Arthur Pendragon, crown prince of Camelot, my best friend, naked on this bed. And me holding your legs above your head, looking into your prattish, pretty face and those baby blue eyes, and you begging me to fuck you.”  
  
”Oh, god, Merlin,” Arthur gasped. “You're brilliant. Do it!”

Continued in [Do It](http://archiveofourown.org/works/461189) on this archive.


End file.
